Scar Tissue Read online

  He looked at me. “What are you implying?”

  “Nothing yet, but I’m keeping my options open. I’m not convinced that she slipped. Not all of the bruises I saw were fresh. She’d have to have slipped numerous times over the past few weeks for her back to look the way it did.”

  Griff didn’t say anything. He just looked at me.

  “I’ve never heard a bad thing about Mike,” he said.

  “Like I said I’m not jumping to conclusions, just keeping an open mind. But don’t forget, they don’t all look like scumbags. They can be wearing a blue uniform just as easily as a hoodie or a wife beater.”

  “I know that, but he’s really well liked on the force.”

  I nodded. “All the more reason to befriend Rhea. If my gut’s right who the hell else does she have?”

  “Don’t get in the middle of it, Britt. There are places she can go for help if she wants it. You’re not in that line of work anymore and if you’re right and that’s what’s happening it’ll be a shit show if it comes out. I’m not saying don’t be her friend, just give her the resources she needs. Don’t get into the thick of it yourself.”

  “That doesn’t sound like you.”

  “Look, if she tells you he’s abusive there’s nothing I won’t do to help her. You know that. I’m just saying if you move forward on an assumption and you’re wrong, you could damage a lot of careers, your own included.”

  I looked at him and nodded. But I didn’t say I wouldn’t get in the thick of it because that’s exactly where I knew I’d be if she confided in me. I never stay at arms-length in anything I do. And I’m not about to start now.

  The next morning after brewing a pot of coffee I settled myself in the master bathroom with a full mug and eight cardboard boxes. Griff was still asleep. I sat on the tub and surveyed my mission. I was thrilled with our new house, loved every inch of it, but the chore of settling in and making it a home was not my strong suit. I know women are supposed to love nesting. It’s an innate part of being female, but I missed that chromosome. Blame my mother. (I like to blame her for most things.) She didn’t know a sauté pan from a bedpan. The homemaking gene, dominant in my sister Amy, lies dormant in me. Amy can cook a gourmet meal in a kitchen off the cover of House Beautiful. I bring home take-out and make a mean martini. (Thanks, Mom.)

  “You look busy.”

  I looked up from my perch on the edge of the bathtub and nodded at the stacks of boxes. “I’m working out a game plan in my head.”

  “Oh,” Griff said. “Like how to get out of unpacking?”

  “Exactly, and now that you’re awake I have my means of escape.” I set my coffee on the sink and put my palms on his chest gently nudging him backward into the bedroom until his knees buckled at the edge of the bed.

  “I like your plan, Callahan. It’s a definite game changer.” He laid back across our king size mattress and pulled me over him like a blanket.

  Afterward…in my search for shampoo and body wash, I managed to empty one of the boxes and my plan fell into place. As I searched for things the boxes would virtually unpack themselves and I’d be done in a week. Griff wouldn’t care how long it took because…well…he’s a man.

  “Ready for the market?” he called from downstairs.

  “Yeah, just let me run over to Rhea’s first and see if she needs anything.”

  “I know what you’re doing,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Snooping.”

  “I am not. I’m being a good neighbor.” I walked past him and out the back door.

  “You are so,” he yelled after me.

  “Whatever,” I said under my breath pushing branches out of my way as I took the path between our houses.

  Rhea was stretched on a chaise beside the pool, her face tipped to the sun. She was a small woman, thin other than her baby bump and short, her feet barely reaching the end of the chair. Her unruly hair was twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck. A few chestnut strands whipped about her head in the breeze.

  “Hi,” I said.

  She sat straight up, her feet hitting the concrete. “Oh my God, Britt,” she said, hand on her chest. “You scared me.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Allie mentioned you were on crutches. We’re headed to the market. I thought I could get some things for you if you need me to.”

  “That’s really kind of you, but I sent Mike off to work this morning with a grocery list. He’ll take care of it. Oh, but…”

  “You forgot something.”

  “Ice cream. I’m having a craving for pistachio.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “Only if you’ll stay and have some with me when you get back.”

  “Count on it,” I said and turned back to the path. On my way to the house I congratulated myself on how I’d handled our interaction. If I’d made too much of her ankle right off the bat, she’d have put her guard up. What better way to ease into it than over a bowl of pistachio ice cream? My interrogation skills were getting better all the time. Not that I was going to flat out interrogate Rhea. But in truth, I was after more than friendship.

  “I assume you’re taking the day off,” Griff said as he pulled into McKenzie’s driveway, dropping me off with a half-gallon of ice cream.

  “You’re going to the office?”

  “I’ll drop this stuff home first,” he nodded toward the groceries in the back seat, “and head in.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Somebody’s got to pay the mortgage.”

  I kissed him on the cheek and closed the Land Rover’s door. I didn’t tell him I considered myself to be on a case. He’d told me to keep my nose out of it and I would. It was my mouth that would be doing the work.

  Rhea was still stretched on the chaise when I stepped through the chain link fence that surrounded the pool. “Don’t get up,” I said raising an outstretched arm. “I’m sure I can find a couple of bowls and spoons. I’m a PI, remember?”

  She laughed and settled back onto the lounge tipping her face to the sun.

  Inside the house, I glanced around, opened a few drawers and flipped through a stack of mail sitting on the counter. The kitchen flowed down two steps into a family room. A fireplace faced me, a flat-screen television mounted on the wall above it. An over-sized, black leather sectional and a baby grand piano finished of the room. Nice spread for a cop’s salary. A staircase beyond led to the second floor. Too risky for now, but an office on the other side of the family room lured me in. The Police Academy diploma and certifications hanging in black metal frames told me it was Mike’s office. I always find hanging your diploma in your home a bit egotistical. Your place of employment is one thing. Clients need to know you have a brain before they lay out their cash or write a check, but at home? It’s a little much.

  “Britt?”

  “Shit.” Rhea was in the kitchen. “Hi,” I said hurrying back through the family room toward her. “I couldn’t help myself. Your home is beautiful. I just took a quick peek. Hope that’s okay.”

  She looked at me and tried to smile, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to overstep my welcome.”

  That seemed to appease her and the smile appeared. “No worries,” she said and opened a drawer to her right taking out two spoons.

  “Bowls?” I asked.

  “Over there.” She pointed to an overhead cabinet.

  Equipped with the necessary tools we settled poolside and filled our bowls with green ice cream laden with pistachio nuts.

  “How’s the ankle?” I asked between spoonfuls.

  “Better today, but it hurt like hell when it happened.”

  “What did you do again? Allie told me, but my memory is selective.”

  Rhea laughed and I felt like I was back on her good side.

  “Nothing really, I just missed a step coming down the stairs. I was carrying a basket of laundry. Between my stomach and the bas
ket, I couldn’t see what my feet were doing.”

  “That’ll teach you to do laundry. Maybe Mike ought to pick up that chore for now.”

  “Oh right.” She grinned. “A cop doing housework? Like that’ll happen.”

  “He’s one of those?”

  “To the core. He works outside the house. I work inside. The two never overlap.”

  “Not even when you’re pregnant?”

  She shook her head and sucked a mound of green into her mouth. “I don’t mind. We decided when we got married that I’d raise the kids and care for the house and he’d bring home the paycheck. I think he’d feel insulted if I wanted to work,” she added. “Even now that we…even since…” She let the words trail off.

  We were quiet for a few beats, licking our spoons.

  “You must be excited about the new baby,” I said hoping to dispel the weight that had fallen on the conversation. But, she didn’t answer and I noticed her eyes fill. Way to go, Britt. “I’m sorry,” I said. (I’d lost track of how many times I’d felt the need to apologize since I’d arrived.) “I didn’t mean to bring up…”

  She shook her head and sniffed. “No, it’s okay. I’m just hoping for an easy delivery. I haven’t looked past that.”

  “How much longer do you have?” I asked.

  “Three and a half weeks.”

  “Nursery ready?”

  She set her bowl on the glass tabletop between us. “No. I haven’t made a nursery. We have a guest room. I put a bassinet in there. It’s really all you need in the beginning.”

  It was one of those rare moments when I had no words. What parents put their new baby in a guest room, like it’s going to be with them for a limited amount of time? Jonathan came to mind. (“How does a one-year-old just disappear out of his house with his mother home?”) Then again, maybe the fear of something awful happening again kept Rhea from creating a nursery. Maybe it was just too reminiscent, too painful. Putting their little bundle of joy in the guest room could be understandable, strange, but understandable, right? Yeah, but no. The discomfort between us was palpable.

  “Thanks for coming over, Britt,” she said, “and for the ice cream.”

  Relieved, I took my cue to leave. “You’re welcome. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.” I reached for the bowls. “I’ll take these in.”

  “Just leave them in the sink,” she said. “It’ll give me something to do when I go inside.”

  After depositing the bowls, I came down the stone stairway and started to walk away, but hesitated conscious of the elephant in the room. I turned back. “Rhea, are you okay?”

  She looked at me a long moment before answering and then very slowly nodded her head, still holding onto my eyes. “I manage,” she said.

  Something passed between us. I wasn’t sure what, but my grandmother would have called it a ‘knowing’.

  Fifteen

  The next morning it was back to work for me. No more lounging poolside with pistachio ice cream. In my mind I’d been gathering evidence, but to Griff, I’d taken the day off. After visiting with Rhea, I’d driven Allie home relieving her of more unpacking. On a whim, I’d picked up Chardonnay, steamers, potatoes and corn on the cob. A traditional New England Clam Bake complete with Death by Chocolate for dessert. If Griff had been irritated by my playing hooky, it was forgotten the minute he came through the door.

  But this morning we were back in the swing and on our way to the office via the back road from Yarmouth to Portland. Route 9 is mostly pasture. Horses munched their breakfast, tossed away flies with a shake of their head and rolled in the dirt scratching their backs. Like them, we were enjoying a slow start to a lazy summer day.

  “Pretty,” I said gazing out the window of the Land Rover.

  “Be prettier without that,” Griff said pointing to a clearing where bulldozers and dump trucks waited, their engines running. “Looks like a new development going in.”

  “Why can’t they ever just leave land untouched?”

  “Money.”

  I shook my head. “Every house looks the same.”

  Griff took a sip of his coffee. “What’s that huge hole?”

  Off to one side, away from the paved road that led to the houses was a hole in the earth at least twelve feet deep, the length and width of an extremely large house.

  “Pool? Don’t know what else it could be.”

  “Nice. A community pool.”

  “As in gated community,” he said, pointing to the sign we were passing.

  Royal Oaks

  (A Gated Community)

  “Why’s gated community in parenthesis?”

  “Less arrogant.”

  “Guess we’ll have to get our own pool,” I said.

  “With you and Allie on my back it’ll be sooner than later.”

  “Squeaky wheel.”

  He smiled. “Or maybe it’s because I love my girls.”

  “You always manage to come out on top.”

  “Just the way I like it.”

  “It’s about time, you two,” Katie said as we came through the door.

  I handed her a bag from Dick’s doughnuts, her favorite.

  “Bribery will get you everywhere,” she said taking a bear claw from the bag and closing her eyes as she took a bite. “Mmm, heaven. There’s a stack of mail on each of your desks and phone messages. Nothing crazy or I would have called. How’s the house?”

  “Full of boxes,” I said. “You like unpacking?”

  “Wish I could, but someone’s gotta take care of things here.” She smiled and chewed.

  “Likely excuse,” I said and stepped into my office.

  By noon emails and phone calls had been returned and a meeting for a new case scheduled. Cheating spouse. I hated those. There was never a good outcome for anyone except our bank account and even though that would make the pool close enough to touch, it never felt good depositing a check that had been written through tears.

  “What about paying Mitzi another visit?” Griff said from the doorway.

  “You know where she lives?”

  He looked at me, confused. “I’m a PI. What do you think?”

  I laughed. “Lighten up. I wasn’t insulting your ability. You think she’s got something?”

  He shrugged. “She lived with Ashley for the past year. Even if they weren’t the best of friends, you learn a lot about someone when you live with them.”

  “Is that a warning?”

  “What’re you, paranoid, Callahan?”

  I looked at him from behind my desk and tipped my head, a smile played around the edges of my mouth. “No.” My voice was just above a whisper. My plan to walk knee deep through Rhea’s life felt less dishonest that way.

  Falmouth is one of the wealthiest communities in the state and its residents like to keep it that way. They stand elbow to elbow leaving no space for intruders. Whether they’re sipping Starbucks on the sideline at their kids’ soccer game or martinis at The Woodlands, the exclusive country club that chooses its members like a chef chooses tomatoes, they don’t make room for commoners. But every family has its Uncle Buck. They’re inescapable. Those folks that live on the outskirts of town rather than butt to shoreline, where kids wear sneakers out of boxes that say Target instead of Under Armour. And that’s where Mitzi’s address of 297 Western Ave. took us.

  We pulled into the driveway of a brown ranch. A wooden wagon wheel leaned against a fir tree with the numbers 2 and 7 nailed into two spokes. We guessed the empty spindle between them was where the 9 should have been. A statue of Saint Francis stood in front of the wheel. Above it, a birdfeeder swung in the breeze.

  “Help you?” A man in his fifties wearing a navy blue, net tank top and camouflage shorts stepped out of the darkened garage squinting in the sunlight. He held a greasy rag in one hand and ran it over the back of his neck while swatting at a fly with the other.

  “We’re looking for Mitzi Gannon,” Griff said. “She live here?”

  “Wh
o are you?”

  “Griff Cole.” He reached a hand toward the man who stepped forward and shook it. With the other hand, Griff offered his ID.

  “I’m Gary Gannon, Mitzi’s father.” He glanced at the ID then looked at the oil on his palm and wiped it with the rag in his hand. “Sorry, workin’ on the beater.” He nodded over his shoulder toward a rusty blue F-150 in the garage. Thing never makes it through more than two or three months without shittin’ the bed. See you got one yourself.” He nodded towards Griff’s Land Rover.

  “Oh no,” Griff laughed. “She’s in pristine condition. They don’t make ‘em like that one anymore. She’s a Series III, 1975. Smooth as a twelve-year-old single malt.”

  I turned my head so Griff wouldn’t see my eyes roll.

  “Don’t kid yourself. They all go one day. 1975 was forty years ago, you better hit your knees if you’re thinkin’ she’ll last much longer.”

  I knew this was cutting straight to the heart so I stepped in to ease Griff’s pain. “Hi,” I said reaching for Gary’s hand. “I’m Britt Callahan, we’re private investigators looking into the death of Ashley Lambert. I understand Mitzi was Ashley’s roommate.”

  Gary shook his head. “Terrible thing. Kid had everything going for her. Don’t make sense.”

  “That’s how her parents feel,” I said. “We’re trying to get them some answers. Is Mitzi home?”

  “Believe so…Mitzi.” He let out a bellow that could challenge a foghorn. “Kid’s probably got them ear plugs glued to her head.” He moved toward the house and motioned for us to follow.

  We passed the traditional Mary-on-the-half shell, surrounded by a garden desperate for a good weeding. After Mary came three little angels each holding a black metal lantern that when lit, would guide a visitor up the flagstone walkway. A two-foot crucifix made of grapevines and backed by dried up, pine boughs hung beside the back door. We stepped into a kitchen that looked more like some kind of do-it-yourself chapel. At least a dozen stained glass sun catchers hung in the bay window behind the sink, splashing color over every surface in the small room. Most of them were angels, a few crosses and two doves. The walls took up where the window left off with pictures of Jesus from childhood through adulthood culminating with the three crosses on the Mount. There were shelves of religious figurines and small crystal dishes of water, holy I’m sure, strategically placed at each doorway so you could bless yourself coming and going. I was sure Griff was as overtaken by the place as I was because neither of us spoke. Finally, my eyes fell on normalcy, a stack of mail on the kitchen table next to a plate with a smattering of dried egg yolk and a mug half full of coffee.